Page 31

A week went by after we returned, and it felt like time was dragging its ancient ass through waist-high mud. Dima and I were in a stony truce. I was slowly driving him up a wall by reverting to my long-practiced professionalism and acting completely polite if I bothered to talk to him at all.

It was so clear he hated it, but if he picked a fight, he lost the battle because I’d only smile and nod. He’d look like a beast for going off on me for no reason. It was perverse, and I also hated it, because he’s the first man who made me feel like I didn’t have to be perfect to avoid a fight, but if I faltered, I might end up liking him again, like I did at the resort.

Or worse, trusting him.

If only we didn’t have so much in common or laughed at all the same things. Our chemistry was off the charts, and I already knew if I ever did manage to get away, I’d die alone because no man could compare to him. Certainly not any of the so-called normal guys I imagined when I dreamed about getting away from the Bratva. Whenever Dima touched me, or even looked at me in that way he had, it was like fireworks went off in every one of my senses.

But even if we didn’t steam up every room we were in, would the imaginary guy lie to me? Wasn’t trust more important than fireworks?

At that point, I wasn’t sure. And I wasn’t sure he was suffering worse than I was, because he was busy with whatever he was doing to secure his new territory, while I was stuck at home with nothing to do but get lost in my thoughts.

For some reason he was home well after our quietly polite breakfast ended, and just knowing he was in the house was working me into a frenzy. I didn’t think about what kind of mood I was in too closely. It didn’t matter, I was wound up and ready for something to happen.

I headed out to the makeshift shooting range that Ivan and Dima still used when they happened to be around for long enough. I was wearing a pair of very short shorts and a clingy top while practicing with a variety of Dima’s arsenal. Was I hoping he’d come out and see me and admire my excellent aim? In truth, I was dying for our stalemate to come to an end, even if it meant a screaming match.

But what if it ended a different way?

No, I absolutely could not think about him dragging me close to his big body and kissing me until I was hanging onto him to keep from melting into the ground. If I kept giving up and losing my senses whenever he touched me, I might as well give up and accept my fate.

I didn’t give up, ever. For once, I was going to get what I wanted, not what my father or my forced husband willed for me.

I shot off an entire clip, sending cans flying and a bottle shattering into a thousand pieces. That was going to be a pain in the ass to clean up, and decided to set a rule about not using glass bottles out at the range. Maybe I’d even make a sign since I had little else to occupy my time.

I turned to rummage through the ammo bag I brought with me and realized my ill-fated wish had come true. Dima stood at the tree line of the clearing, watching me with the kind of interest that had me tingling. Forcing myself to ignore him, I reloaded the gun. In a second, he was at my side, taking it from me and shooting off every round. I was mesmerized by the calm, sure movements of his arm as it rose, his hand as it ever so gently squeezed the trigger.

As the final shot still echoed off the mountains, he turned and gave me a long, slow once over in my barely there outfit, making me shiver in anticipation.

“Do you want to go into town?” he asked.

Disappointment and relief flooded me at the same time. It was a minor miracle I remained upright. “Yes, that sounds fine,” I said, hurrying past him to change into something that wouldn’t get me arrested. And to keep from grabbing him and pulling him into the dirt with me.

The only reason the trip into town wasn’t completely silent was because Andre drove us in and Dima kept up a low conversation with him in the front seat. I sat in the back alone, and had no idea why this would somehow hurt my feelings. I was a mess.

Dima dropped me off with Andre in tow at the coffee shop, where Zoey was at work at a corner table, her head down in concentration over her laptop. When the little bell on the door tinkled as we entered, she glanced up, then smiled with delight when she saw it was me.

“Oh my God, I was so worried,” she said, hurrying to pull me to her table. “I didn’t know if you were ever coming back.”

Andre drifted off to his own table and snapped open a tattered paperback book, pretending to ignore my presence.

I sat down as Zoey continued to express relief that I was still around, clearly searching for visible bruises after I was dragged away by my brute of a husband over a week ago. I shoved down my guilt that I led her to think I might actually have any bruises, and felt like the devil himself for wishing I’d thought ahead and slammed my arm in a door or something.

I was at my breaking point. It was now or never.

Nodding toward Andre, I leaned close to Zoey. “See that man over there?”

“Your bodyguard?” she whispered.

I shook my head. “My guard, period. I may as well be a prisoner. He’s not there to protect me, but to keep me from leaving my husband.”

I laid it on so thick I even managed a few tears. I was so anxious about the possible outcome of all this that they were close to being real. This might be the chance I’d been looking for. If I pulled this off, I could be on my way to freedom in a matter of hours, but that also meant I was well and truly on my own. A lifetime of running and hiding.

But my own choice. Was I getting soft even considering backing out? After all, it was my father’s debt, not mine. I wasn’t property to be bought and sold. I wasn’t even faking it anymore. I was on the verge of a full-on panic attack as I soon learned that my new friend was on board with helping me escape.

“It’s just so awful,” I said.

“I have a prescription for anti-anxiety meds,” she said.

I thought she meant for me since I was close to hyperventilating, but she was looking straight at Andre.

“You’re really okay with this?” I asked. “You’re really going to help me?” I might have embellished the hellishness of my time with Dima, but my gratitude was real. I swiped the tears off my cheeks as Zoey’s face set.

“Of course,” she hissed, getting up and heading to the counter.

Very carefully, she drew out an amber bottle from her purse, tipped several pills onto a napkin, and crushed them with the back of her fingernail. “He’s pretty big,” she whispered. “But three ought to be enough. We’re not looking to kill him, right?”

Her nervous laughter had me clutching my stomach, about to run for the restroom to puke. What was I getting her into?

“He’ll be fine,” I said; a lifetime of witnessing ruthless acts making me able to remain outwardly calm.

She made a big show of ordering a round of cold fruit drinks for the other patrons, saying she’d been working there every day for so long that she felt like she knew everyone. When the barista put the tray on the counter, Zoey turned her back for a moment, her hand slipping from her pocket. I kept my eyes trained on Andre, who’d glanced up when she made her announcement, but was now reading his book again.

Taking the tray, she walked around, setting a glass by each of the other patrons, and they all thanked her with big smiles. Even Andre grunted in a grateful sort of way. We watched from the corner of our eyes as he finally pushed aside his half-finished coffee and took a big swig of the spiked juice.

Zoey made a shuddering sound and put her hand over her mouth, as pale as a ghost.

“There’s no guarantee it’ll work,” I said. Was I trying to soothe her or myself?

Andre must have liked the guava blend because he kept drinking it and soon he was nodding over his book. Zoey looked at me meaningfully, snapped her laptop shut, and got up to leave.

“See you all tomorrow, everyone,” she said for Andre’s benefit, then repeated it in her rudimentary Spanish.

A couple of the people waved, and Andre didn’t look up at all. I kept my focus on a newspaper left on the next table, not even seeing any words I could barely read anyway. I was keenly aware of Andre, struggling to keep his head up. He took one last long drink to finish off his juice, maybe hoping the sugar would perk him up, and then the book dropped out of his hands to the table, and his head lolled back to rest against the wall behind him.

I watched his chest rise and fall for a few seconds, praying we really hadn’t killed him, then made a break for the restroom. But not the women’s this time, which didn’t have a window, and was probably part of why Andre felt so relaxed he could read a book. But I did my homework, and the men’s room had a small window above the sink.

Peeking in to make sure I wasn’t going to alarm anyone just having a pee, I climbed onto the sink and dragged myself through. Ignoring the chipped pane scratching my skin and not giving a damn about my shirt getting ripped as I made the final push, I finally tumbled to the ground outside.

The alley was just wide enough for a car to pass through more comfortably than my trip through the window, and Zoey waited for me there.

“Come on,” she said, voice tight with nerves. Grabbing my arm, she helped me up and pushed me toward the passenger side while she dove behind the wheel and started the engine.

We didn’t mess around with any roundabout routes and headed straight for the nearest highway. As soon as we coasted from the on ramp, she floored it.

“How long?” she asked, eyes glued to the road as she neatly passed the other cars to get into the fast lane.

“Maybe an hour until Dima comes to collect me,” I said. Maybe less if Andre woke up before then and realized I was gone. “We have to get as far as we can as fast as we can.”

She nodded, and the engine revved as she stepped harder on the gas.